“Righto, Cliff,” agreed Patsy Birch. “I’m puttin’ you straight. The three of us is ready — an’ we ain’t tied up with nobody right now. We ain’t goin’ to be, neither, just so long as you’ve got a lay for us!”
Cliff drew a roll of bills from his pocket. The men watched him eagerly as he counted out fifteen hundred dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills and divided the money into three equal piles. He brought the garage checks from his pocket and laid one on each pile of money.
“One stack for each of you,” he said. “I’m paying you in advance! That’s what I think of you fellows!”
“Half a grand!” exclaimed Nipper. “Say, Cliff, we’ll bump off a whole mob for this.”
“Put the cash away,” said Cliff. “Look at those tickets” — the men obeyed — “and listen to me. There’ll be no guns tonight. Leave your rods at home if you want. This job wants to be done quietly, understand?”
The listeners nodded.
“I want each of you to take your claim check,” explained Cliff, “and go to the garage marked on it. Pay for storage on the truck, but before you drive it out, look for a little switch under the front seat.
“You’ll find some kind of a hook-up under there. Take it off. Get me?
“Now here’s where you take those trucks. Each one of you goes to a New Era Garage. Tenth Avenue is yours, Patsy. Yours is Fifty-fourth Street, Dave. Nipper goes to Eighth Avenue. Check the trucks in there.
“Be particular about it. Say, that you’re leaving your truck for a couple of days, and make sure that it goes in a good corner spot. Just work on one man, in an offhand manner.
“Look over your truck when you put it away, and fix that connection under the front seat when nobody is looking. You understand all that?”
“Well, just one word more. Drive those trucks slowly and carefully when you come down from the Bronx. Don’t run any risk. Keep out of trouble. That’s all!”
“Half a grand?” questioned Nipper incredulously. “Half a grand for just bringin’ a truck down from the Bronx?”
“Just for that,” said Cliff. “Nothing else. Then lay low until you hear from me again. That’s all!”
THE meeting broke up. Patsy and Dave left the room; Nipper followed. Cliff remained for a few minutes; then made his way to the main room of the Club Drury.
On the other side was a row of curtained booths. They were in front of small tables, quite as secure from observation as the private dining rooms. Cliff smiled.
The Club Drury was an ideal place tonight. It would be the last spot where any one connected with Ernie Shires or Killer Durgan would come. That was exactly why it had been set as the meeting point. The instructions had surprised Cliff when he had received them; but after understanding had dawned, he had put The Shadow’s idea into further practice.
He walked along the row of booths, looking at the floor until he saw a menu card projecting from beneath a curtain. Cliff entered the booth. Madge Benton was awaiting him.
“Gee, Cliff!” the girl whispered. “This is great! I’ve been waiting for you pretty near half an hour. You can stay a while, can’t you?”
Cliff nodded.
“Durgan told me to beat it,” explained Madge. “Told me to take in a picture show or whatever else I wanted, just so I got out of there.
“He’s got something on his mind. I guess he doesn’t want to be bothered. Something big is doing tonight—”
“Never mind that,” said Cliff lightly. “Let’s forget Durgan. I’ll call the waiter and we’ll order; then we’ll have the rest of the evening all to ourselves.”
Cliff’s work was through for that night. He knew that he could rely upon the three men whom he had known in Sing Sing. In that he was correct. While Cliff was dining with Madge, his henchmen were following his instructions.
IT was approaching midnight when Nipper Brady drove a dilapidated old truck into the New Era Garage on Eighth Avenue. Without leaving the driver’s seat, he spoke to the attendant who approached.
“Say, boy,” said Nipper, “I gotta leave this old wagon overnight. Maybe a couple days. Where can I stick it?”
“Take it on the elevator,” was the reply. “Third floor.”
“Nix on that,” replied Nipper. “I may want it in a hurry when I come back for it. If you can’t give me space down here, I’ll pull out.” He began to reverse the truck.
“Don’t be in a hurry,” argued the garage man. “I’ll fix you up on this floor. Go back there — over by the far wall, near the corner.” He indicated the place. “Back your truck in there. Here, wait until I fix you up with a claim check.”
Nipper waited after he had put the truck in its place. The attendant was gone. The little gangster reached beneath the front seat and found a wire. He pushed it into a plug in a box at the side of the truck under the seat.
“I got an idea what this is for,” he chuckled. “I oughta known all about it when Cliff said to drive easy comin’ down. Guess I’ll buzz Dave an’ see how he an’ Patsy made out.”
Nipper made his telephone call from a near-by drug store, after he had left the garage. Dave answered. He said that Patsy was with him.
They had had experiences similar to Nipper’s. The other trucks — both old, much-used vehicles — had been stored in the garages designated.
IT was more than an hour after Nipper had gone from the New Era Garage before men began to put in an appearance at the old building on Eighth Avenue.
They came through a side door, where they were admitted by a hard-faced watchman. They passed behind rows of parked cars. They entered the office at the rear, where they found Ernie Shires awaiting them.
Killer Durgan’s mob was assembling for action. The room was not a small one. Three benches had been brought in, and there was ample room for the dozen men who had arrived.
They represented various types of the underworld. Every one of them bore the appearance of a hardened mobster. Some carried scars of conflict. All wore expressions that were pleasing to Ernie Shires.
This was a picked crowd! There would be effective work tonight!
“Let the coppers try to bother us,” muttered Ernie, as he surveyed the group. “Coppers. Bah! If any one else shows up — well—”
His soliloquy was interrupted by the arrival of a group of men. Big Ben Hargins was here with his dock wallopers.
Ernie’s crew of mobsmen looked like pygmies beside this gang of huskies. They were the most notorious terrorists of all New York — these huskies who kept the racket going where the ships unloaded. First-class sluggers, all of them!
“Hello, Ben!” exclaimed Ernie, rising from his chair. “This fixes us. We’re all here, now. Waiting for the blowoff!”
“How soon?” questioned Ben.
Ernie looked at his watch.
“About fifteen minutes,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got the three jobs timed. There’s a guy waiting to hear the first one. He’s going to call me here.
“Then we start. We’ll be doing our work while things are hopping up in the Bronx.”
“How far apart have you set them?”
“About five minutes. Good timing mechanism, too. Tested. Ought to click pretty close to the dot.”
He continued to talk in an undertone to the leader of the dock wallopers. The gunmen were conversing among themselves.
Big Ben’s huskies were in one end of the room, waiting silently for their leader’s instructions. No one other than Ernie and Ben knew exactly what was due to happen — even Ben was in ignorance of some of the details.
“Listen, Ernie,” the big dock walloper said, “how about the dough, now? I’ve got the gang here.”
“Wait until the job is finished,” replied Ernie shrewdly.